“Hm! Hm! To-morrow, that is rather sudden.... I must have time to inform Mme. Chambannes.... Especially since her husband left last night on a journey.”
“Ah! on a journey!... Where to?...” Cyprien asked.
“To Bosnia, I believe.”
“Bosnia!... Ah, really, to Bosnia!” the younger Raindal repeated, in order to memorize this particularity or to discover therein a piece of probable evidence.
He said resolutely:
“Well, write at once to Mme. Chambannes.... Two lines, two simple lines.... I shall drop your letter in the box when I go.... She will have it the first thing to-morrow morning ... and if she does not want me....”
“Oh! very well!” M. Raindal said coldly, as he took up his pen.
But he added, before writing a word: “Nevertheless, I give you fair warning.... You may perhaps meet at Mme. Chambannes’ house some people who are not to your taste....”
“Who may they be?”
“I do know for certain.... Let me see, there may be the abbé Touronde, a friend of the family....”